


unexpected trust

by enbycupcake



Series: unexpected trust [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom!Bail, Dom/sub, Illustrated, M/M, Sub!Anakin, Trans Anakin, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycupcake/pseuds/enbycupcake
Summary: Padmé had said that Bail was stressed with the war effort, and she had asked her husband if he would submit to her friend to help him out.Anakin had agreed to. Their first intimate one-on-one meeting goes better than either expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, I dunno. I like my little rarepair, and I even like it more when it's polyam rarepair with Padmé, Breha, and Obi-Wan. This has no Obi-Wan romantically involved in this, though, and Padmé and Breha are only mentioned. Maybe next time I'm struck by rarepair hell again.
> 
> Also, as always, Anakin is trans.

Like many things, it started out as Padmé’s idea. She had said that Bail was stressed, and with the war, he could see his wife less and less frequently. It was getting more and more dangerous for him to go to clubs as one of the more known senators. Anakin – while not usually Bail’s type – could help out, Padmé had said.

Anakin had foolishly agreed, and now here he is. In Senator Organa’s apartment. 

It’s nicely furnished, a few Alderaan paintings on the walls. Anakin wants to get up to observe them – the brushstrokes are much finer than any of the Naboo pieces in Padmé’s apartment, and Anakin wants to know if he can see them if he’s closer or if the artist blended them away. Anakin, however, doesn’t get up. Senator Organa – _Bail_ – is coming back into the sitting room with a serving dish, and Anakin smiles nervously as he sits down beside him on the couch, depositing his load on the caf table in front of them. 

He’s handed a crystal glass of what he assumes is wine, and Anakin downs more than what is polite for a first sip. Bail merely lets out a small laugh as the taste forces him to make a face; he’d prepared for bitter and wasn’t expected the assault of sweetness on his tongue. It’s…more saccharine than those damn cakes Obi-Wan enjoys. 

“It takes a while to get used to, I’m told,” says Bail. 

His smile is warm, Anakin notes. The bags under his eyes are hardly noticeable with how lovely it is. “It’s…very sweet.”

“Indeed. It’s a guilty pleasure.”

“You share that with Obi-Wan.” Anakin sniffs at his drink, not caring how impolite it is. The reason they’re together isn’t the most polite, he reasons. If he keeps reminding himself, maybe this will be less weird. “He has a sweeter tooth than a creche youngling.”

Bail has a deep laugh when he gets going. Anakin lets it wash over him, pleased despite himself that he started it. His mirth carries throughout his body, the deep emerald senatorial robe he’s wearing shifting with him. “I’ve noticed. Your master goes for the fruits first on any platter I see him with.”

“Former master.”

“Ah, yes. Forgive me my mistake.”

Sipping at his sugary concoction – Anakin can’t believe this is actually wine – he tries to swallow down the annoyance at Bail’s previous statement. He hasn’t been a Padawan for a while now, and he _knows_ Obi-Wan talks to Bail. Even if he doesn’t, on the off chance that their meetings only involve silent companionship, Anakin’s hair surely should have been an indicator. 

“Forget about it.”

Bail shakes his head. “If this is going to work, you aren’t going to do that. Tell me to forget something I’ve done that’s bothered you.”

“Well, then,” Anakin spits, “what would you have me do? Tell you I don’t forgive you?”

The way Bail holds his wine glass is a lot less refined than Anakin thought it would be. He doesn’t hold it daintily like Padmé does, he’s forced to note as Bail picks one up. “I’d rather you let yourself be mad at me or you tell me to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“It’s not that serious, surely. It was a mistake.” Anakin grips tightly to his glass. 

Bail locks gazes with him. “If I’m going to do this with you, it is. If I can’t trust you to be honest with the minor things, how can I trust you to tell me if I cross a line?”

“Padmé said that you wanted– that you wanted to _play_. Why do the small things matter?”

“Anakin.” The bags under his eyes are easy to spot without the warmth of his smile. “I need, and want, you to feel safe with me. From what I’ve gleaned from your personality, doing this without at least a sense of companionship would be disastrous for you. That’s why the small things matter.”

“ _From my personality_? And what, exactly, is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Bail closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he places one of his hands on Anakin’s knee. His thumb starts rubbing in small, comforting circles. “I don’t mean to insult you, but you don’t seem the type to do this if you aren’t…attached to the person.”

“I agreed to do this with _you_ , didn’t I?”

“Because Padmé took it upon herself to ask. If I had approached you myself, you would have said no, correct?”

The circles on his knee feel so very nice; Anakin watches Bail’s hand for a second before answering. “Yeah.”

“That is what I meant.”

“Padmé said I wasn’t your type,” Anakin swallows and ignores the urge to chug the remainder of his glass, “what do you…like, normally?”

The circles on his knee keep going, and Bail’s other hand finds Anakin’s hair. It starts petting him. “I like a little bit of impact play involved with my partner’s submission, but I won’t ask that of you. Padmé said that you don’t like it?”

“No.” Eyes closing, Anakin sighs. “What did she say I like?”

Amusement coloring his voice, Bail answers, “This.”

“Mm. I do.”

“I gather. Normally I like Breha kneeling for me. Would that bother you?”

“Can I get a kneeling pad?”

“Of course.” He twists the top of Anakin’s ear. “Would you like it if I fed you?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“With my hands or with a fork?”

Anakin sighs, picturing Bail’s fingers feeding him little bits of food from his plate. The way he could suck the tips into his mouth after the bite, and he thinks of the way Padmé trails hers along his jaw when she gives him dinner. “Your hands.”

“Am I losing you?”

“No,” he whines. He doesn’t want the hand in his hair to stop, Bail’s fingernails lightly scratching his head. 

Bail huffs at him. “I think I am.”

“Don’t stop. Please.”

“I’m not doing more than having you kneel and be hand fed if I don’t stop, Anakin. We haven’t exactly had a full discussion.” Bail slides his hand out of Anakin’s hair. “I shouldn’t have started petting you.”

“What would we have to add for that to give you something? Because I, for one, would love for you to not stop. Dinner sounds lovely.”

Bail smiles at him, his head shaking. “I think for tonight that would serve me just fine. It’s been a long time since I’ve been domestic. In the morning, though, we’re continuing our conversation.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Am I making dinner or are you?”

“I’m an excellent host, Anakin. I already have dinner made, but it’s not all finger food. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight. To be honest, I was expecting nothing to happen for many more meetings.”

“Surprise?”

Laughing, Bail rubs his thumb one last time on Anakin’s knee before standing. “I’m sure there are going to be lots of those with you, if Obi-Wan is to be believed.”

“Probably.”

“Put your glass down. I’ll bring you out water.”

Anakin follows the order. “I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“I’m aware; this wouldn’t be going anywhere if you were. Water is good for you.”

Rolling his eyes, Anakin watches as Bail leaves the sitting room. His robe just barely brushes the floor, enough for effect but not enough to be too troublesome for movement. It’s practical, for a senator. More than some of Padmé’s outfits, definitely. Smiling at the thought of his wife, Anakin wipes his palms on the knees of his leggings. He’s starting to think this wasn’t such a bad idea. Bail has nice hands, and he’s fine with just this for tonight. With just taking care of him. 

Excitement bubbling, Anakin doesn’t even feel impatient waiting. He’s eager to be fed, and he hopes that Bail lets him rest his head on his thigh. That maybe Bail will pet him some more during dinner. Bail was right, earlier, that he was losing Anakin from it. Playing with his hair is Padmé’s go to when she wants him pliant for her. 

Once Bail comes back, kneeling pad and glass of water in hand, Anakin rushes to stand up. He knocks into the caf table, and he swears. Deep laughter from Bail follows, and Anakin gives him a mock glare. 

“Don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

“Ha ha.” Anakin self consciously wipes his hands on his tabards. “Did you…did you want me to take my clothes off?”

“Would it make you uncomfortable?”

Biting his lip, Anakin twirls the bottom of his tunic between his fingers. Only Padmé’s seen him naked outside of medical contexts – well, Obi-Wan’s seen him, but Obi-Wan doesn’t count. Bail’s apartment is also a few degrees cooler than Padmé’s, and Anakin doesn’t want to be cold. But– Bail’s probably going to have to see him sooner or later, if they do this. “It’s…kind of cool for me?”

“Not tonight, then.” Bail’s smile grows sly. “I’d rather any shaking you do be because of me, not the temperature.”

“Me, too,” Anakin says as he settles down onto the kneeling pad. It’s much more comfortable than the ones in the temple, not worn down at all, and it’s even more padded than the one that Padmé bought that they never remember to take out when Anakin wants to rest his head in her lap. Pleased, Anakin shifts his weight, enjoying how much padding there is. His knees aren’t going to hurt at all. 

“You don’t really kneel for Padmé, do you?”

Anakin stops moving around. “Sometimes?”

“You’re fine, Anakin. You can keep squirming about.” Bail’s hand comes to run through his hair. “It’s amusing how much you’re enjoying the pad.”

Making a face, Anakin tilts his head as Bail’s fingers caress his ear. “We always forget to take out our pad at home.”

“Of course you do.” The fondness is Bail’s voice falls over Anakin like a blanket. “Rushing into it, I presume? That sounds like the two of you.”

“Mm.”

“I’m going to get dinner now. I want you to stay with your eyes closed. You can take off your belts if you don’t like eating with them on.”

“How much food did you make that I’d want them off?”

Bail lets out an amused huff. “Obi-Wan says you eat like a bantha; I made sure to be prepared. Now, close your eyes.”

“Yes, Bail.”

The hand in his hair slides out from his locks, and Anakin bites back the sigh he wants to let out. Bail isn’t Padmé; he shouldn’t be as needy as she lets him be. He listens to the quiet sound of Bail’s steps as he heads to the kitchen. It’s strange, the heavier footfalls echoing around him while he’s on the floor. Strange, but not unpleasant. Bail’s going to be very good to him.

Straightening his spine like he knows the submissives in the dirty holos do, like the ones Bail’s probably more accustomed to in the clubs, Anakin debates where to rest his hands. He knows that arms behind the back is a popular position, either arms crossed or hands resting by the ass. He could rest his hands on his knees or he could spread his legs and place his hands on the floor between them. 

Biting his lip, Anakin nixes the last one; he doesn’t want to move that much. He doesn’t want his arms behind his back, crossed; with Padmé, inevitably, his hands wonder to her body, to rest on her knee or cradle her ankle or press into her thighs if he’s eating her out. The arms crossed position would make his movement obvious, startling, if he slips to touch Bail. Letting his lip slip from between his teeth, Anakin rests his palms on his knees. This position is easy, casual. 

Hopefully Bail likes it. Padmé doesn’t care about kneeling posture.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin feels out with the Force to sense the senator. His presence is warm, and Anakin smiles as he picks up a large amount of movement. His host is returning. Raising his head, Anakin rolls his shoulders. Bail’s footsteps are getting louder, and anticipation stirs in his gut. A savory aroma curls into his nose, expensive the dressing and the spices, the only thing Anakin can pick out. Whatever Bail has gotten made, Anakin doesn’t know it by name. 

He can feel the moment Bail crosses back into the sitting room. Pleasure bleeds out into the Force, and Anakin’s toes curl knowing he caused it. _His_ decision to pick a kneeling position made Bail happy. _He_ did. Smiling as the footfalls continue, Anakin tilts his head up. He can hear the depositing of the new tray on the caf table, the soft swishing of robes and the faint squeak of the sofa as Bail sits down next to him. 

Bail’s hand, just as gentle as before, rests on his head. “You’re being a good boy for me, Anakin.”

Sighing, contentment wrapping around him at the praise, Anakin leans into Bail’s hand. He’s rewarded with gentle massaging of Bail’s fingers.

“Such a good boy, kneeling for me.” He slides his hand out from Anakin’s hair down to caress along Anakin’s cheek, pressing his thumb against his lips. “You’re going to stay there while I eat my dinner, and then you’ll get yours. Understood?”

Anakin kisses the thumb pressed against him as best as he can. “You won’t ignore me?”

“No, Anakin. I won’t ignore you.” 

“Okay.” He gives Bail’s thumb another kiss. “Understood, Bail.”

Bail’s thumb increases its pressure against him for a moment before disappearing, the clanking of silverware replacing the tactile sensation for auditory. Anakin listens as the food is cut into smaller pieces, the hard metal of Bail’s knife scraping against his plate, tearing apart whatever protein he’s had made. 

_Clink, snick. Clink, snick. Clink, snick._

_Rest._

_Clink, snick. Clink, snick. Clink, snick._

_Rest._

_Soft rustling of his sleeves, ever present as Bail moves._

_A scuffle of glass, presumably his drink._

_A ruffle, likely a napkin._

The return of sensation outside of his ears startles him, Bail’s hand coming again to his head. Bail coos at him, reassuring, as he starts petting him. Anakin wants to purr from it, the gentle touch intoxicating. As it is, he merely lets out a pleased sigh, nothing but Bail in his senses, his touch in his hair and on his head, his breathing and the way he chews and how he swallows in his ears, his food’s scent in his nostrils. 

There is nothing but what Bail wants him to experience. 

Body going lax, Anakin leans his head into the hand petting him. The amusement that curls around him, the huff Bail releases, wash over him. It feels nice. Pleasure settling in his gut, he breathes in and out. 

When his attention is demanded again, the hand in his hair trails down to cup his chin. Bail turns him to face him, his fingers still so gentle on his skin. Anakin wants to kiss them all, eventually. When Bail lets him. 

“Open your mouth, Anakin.”

His mouth tumbles open at the order, eager to please. A fork is guided into it, flavor bursting on his tongue once he closes his lips around the tines. Anakin pays it no heed. Bail didn’t cook it, and he had asked no opinion of it, so it doesn’t matter. Pulling the bite from the fork, the hand on his chin follows the movement of his head. Anakin feels Bail as he chews, his loose grip forcing him to notice how much effort it takes to manage a single bite, the way his jaw raises and the way his mouth moves as he swallows. 

After his forkful is gone, another quickly replaces it. This one the protein is cut larger, and Anakin shifts his jaw once he’s finished chewing. Bail tilts his head up. A glass is pressed to his lips, cool against his skin. Obeying the silent request, Anakin opens his lips. Water flows into his mouth, down his throat. The coldness is refreshing. He keeps greedily swallowing until the glass is tipped down and away from him. Bail’s thumb swipes his cheek, praising, before he returns his head back to its former position. 

The next bite is of sweetly syrup covered fruit. Anakin laughs as it hits his tongue, and he’s pleasantly surprised to close his lips around sticky fingers instead of a fork. Moaning, he licks around the fruit for Bail’s fingertips. He’s not allowed; Bail pulls them away. 

“Chew first, Anakin. Then you can have my fingers back.”

Anakin eagerly chews, and the hand on his chin pushes up on his jaw. 

“Regularly.”

Wrinkling his nose, he nonetheless obeys. His chewing gets slower. As soon as he swallows the fruit down, he opens his mouth again. With a head shake, Anakin can swear he _hears_ it, the fingers return. Anakin happily wraps his lips around them, sucking the sticky syrup from them. His runs his tongue along and in-between the digits, exploring the fingertips and the knuckles well past having cleaned them of the syrup. Bail lets him do it, and Anakin happily gives them a big slurp. 

When Bail eventually takes his fingers away, a little popping sound from Anakin’s mouth, Anakin whines. He’s immediately shushed, and another bite of food is placed against his lips. Wanting to be good, Anakin drops open his mouth. This time it’s protein again.

The rest of the meal is spent exactly like this, two bites of protein before an offering of water, followed by fruit delivered by Bail’s fingers. Every time, Bail lets Anakin lick them clean. Contentment is the only thing that Anakin could say he feels as the meal progresses, himself the sole focus of Bail’s attentions and his stomach filling with food.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A drawing inspired by this fic because why not. I didn't reread to see if I described how exactly Bail was sitting, and I didn't draw the caf table but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
